


Unsolved Mysteries

by dracoqueen22



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Fjolly Week 2019, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 15:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17810969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: Fjord finds Molly bleeding in a washroom, but it’s hardly the first time, and like always, Molly is the least bit concerned.For Fjollyweek, Day Six.





	Unsolved Mysteries

He’s not their leader, but they keep insisting he is, so until such time as they realize he’s not the best choice and vote someone else in, Fjord does his best to do right by the Mighty Nein.   
  
He comes into the tavern after ensuring their cart is safely stowed for the evening and immediately counts his party members: Nott, Caleb, Jester, Yasha, Beau, Mol--  
  
No.   
  
“Where’s Molly?” Fjord asks as he joins their table, leaning in between Beau and Jester to snag one of the biscuits off the shared plate in the center.   
  
“He’s upstairs washing up,” Jester says, wrinkling her nose over something on her bread before shoving it in her mouth anyway. “He’s pretty bloody.”   
  
“Should probably check on him,” Beau adds as she tries to grab some bacon, and Nott snaps at her. Beau bares her teeth back.   
  
“I can do it,” Yasha says, making to stand.  
  
Fjord goes to put a hand on her shoulder and hesitates. He’s still not sure of the rules of personal space when it comes to Yasha. “No, I got it,” he says, tracking Beau’s disappointed look of betrayal until Yasha sits back down again. “Save me some bacon.”   
  
“Good luck with that,” Nott says and a battle between monk and rogue begins.   
  
Fjord sighs.   
  
He’s their leader. But not even he’s getting in the middle of that. Especially since, in the end, cleric will emerge victorious. Jester’s not afraid to summon a lollipop if she wants something on the table.   
  
He leaves them scrapping over dinner, Caleb the only behaved one, because he’s reading a book. Nott will make sure he gets some kind of food into him, Fjord assumes. He swings by the bar for directions to the washroom before he makes his way upstairs.   
  
He rubs his shoulder as he climbs, the muscles sore and aching from the bash he took. They’d run into an angry mountain giant on their way through the pass and efforts at diplomacy failed. Maybe because Beau jumped the fence and cracked him across the skull with her bo. Or maybe because mountain giants don’t understand Common.   
  
Three doors down and on the left, two more doors have sloppily painted words scrawled across their surfaces -- washroom. One door is ajar, a candle flickering odd shadows across the walls. The other is closed, but water splashes inside it.   
  
Fjord raps his knuckles beneath the flaking paint. “Molly?”   
  
There’s a pause before Fjord hears the latch flick up, and the door opens. “Yeah, I’m in here.” His voice floats out, but he doesn’t appear.   
  
Fjord slips into the narrow space, closing the door behind him. It smells of water and soap and blood, and a lantern casts a pale glow throughout the washroom. Coat and swords dangle from crooked hooks in the wall, and Molly’s stripped off his bloody shirt. He must have scrubbed it already, because it’s dripping.   
  
He’s still bleeding.   
  
“How’s the shoulder?” Molly asks as he presses a cloth to the long line of red arcing over one shoulder and down his back, opposite of his tattoo.   
  
“I should be asking you that.” Fjord plucks the cloth from his hand. “Here. Let me do that.” There’s a lot of blood. “Why didn’t you get Jester to heal this?”   
  
“This is what it looks like after Jester helped,” Molly says. He stares into the bowl, water both red and grimy, his hands gripping the polished stone edges.   
  
“Shit.”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
Fjord gingerly dabs at the bleeding lines of red. They seem to be clotting, though the edges are raised red and raw. “How’d you even manage to do this anyway?”   
  
“I didn’t.” Molly sighs, and his knuckles turn a little white. His head’s down so Fjord can’t see his face; it’s obscured by his hair. “It looked like that after the fight. I only did this one.” He drags his fingers over his collarbone, where a welt has already healed over.   
  
Fjord leans around him to dip the cloth into the water and squeeze it out. “Why?”   
  
“How the hell should I know?” Molly throws up his hands and mutters a curse in Infernal under his breath. “I don’t know why this works or how it works. I’m figuring it out as I go.”   
  
Fjord bites his bottom lip and considers. He dabs at the last bit of the bleeding wound before tossing the wet rag aside. Blood wells to the surface of the cut, but doesn’t go any further.   
  
“You seem to be on the mend,” he says, and rests his hands on Molly’s shoulders, Molly’s skin feeling unusually chilled beneath his palms.   
  
“It’ll heal eventually. They always do.” Molly finally lifts his head and looks over his shoulder, lips curved in an echo of his usual grin. “Don’t mind me and my attitude. I’m having a moment.”   
  
“On a scale of one to Beau, I’d hardly count that as an attitude.” Fjord chuckles and leans in, lips skating over Molly’s skin, beneath his ear.   
  
Molly snorts and shakes his hands, like flicking water from them. He turns and slides his arms around Fjord’s waist, pressing his body to Fjord’s.   
  
“Mmm. That’s better,” he says as he tucks his face into Fjord’s throat. “Though maybe we should find an actual bathhouse. You smell like you’ve been on the road for a week.”   
  
“We  _have_  been on the road for a week.” Fjord rolls his eyes but returns the embrace, a tail immediately wrapping around his right arm with a tight squeeze. “I don’t think we’re going to get lucky enough to find something fancy here.”   
  
“I’ll take a river at this point.”   
  
“Hedonist.”   
  
“And what of it?”   
  
Molly smirks, Fjord feels the curve of it against his throat, before a tongue flicks hot over his skin.   
  
Fjord shivers, briefly closing his eyes to get a hold of himself before his cock wakes up to say hello. He has to save that for later. “Maybe you could ask Caleb. He’s read a lot.”   
  
“No thanks.” Molly sighs and pulls back, flicking hair out of his eyes. There’s an unusual sobriety in his face. “My curiosity only goes as far as the next surprise. I don’t want to delve into my past to find out why. I just need to adapt as the situations come.” He grins and winks. “As you know, I’m very adaptable.”   
  
Fjord swallows a groan. “Yes, I know.” He runs one hand over Molly’s shoulder, gently skating across the fresh wound and coming away with a few dots of blood. “This doesn’t worry you?”   
  
“Honestly? I’ve gotten used to the sight of my own blood.” Molly rolls his shoulders. “I’m not squeamish.” He rubs a hand up Fjord’s breastplate before tapping tips of his fingers on Fjord’s collarbone. “It’s still not the weirdest thing that’s happened to me.”   
  
Ah. Well, he has a point.   
  
“Who am I to judge?” Fjord replies with a wry chuckle. “I have dreams about someone talking to me, and I mysteriously swallow magic orbs.”   
  
“We’re all a little weird.” Molly laughs and leans up, pressing a kiss to the corner of Fjord’s mouth. “Thanks for checking up on me, o’ fearless leader. I appreciate the concern.”   
  
Fjord slides a hand up Molly’s back, avoiding the wound, but fingers skipping over old scars and painted skin. “Well, it is my job. That and Jester was worried.”   
  
“Oh. Anything for Jester then.” Molly snorts and slips out of Fjord’s arms, not rudely or pointedly, but just to grab his coat and shrug into it. He picks up his dripping shirt and frowns at it. “I hope we’re in this town longer than a day. I need a new shirt.”   
  
Fjord raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know. I kind of like the view as is.”   
  
“You would.” Molly squeezes the last few drops of water from his shirt. “All right. Let me just stash this in our room, and then I’ll come downstairs for dinner. I’ve probably missed out on the bacon, but maybe there are some crumbs left.”   
  
Fjord slides in, drags his lips up the curve of Molly’s jaw toward his mouth, tongue sliding in to deepen it. Molly chuckles against his mouth but cups a hand around the back of Fjord’s head, taking the kiss from warm to steamy.   
  
If he wasn’t so hungry, Fjord would skip dinner, bacon bedamned. “I’ll try and save you a biscuit,” he murmurs.   
  
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Molly pats him on the cheek and sashays out of the washroom, swords in one hand and damp shirt slung over the other. His tail twitches behind him, like it’s waving goodbye.   
  
Well. There’ll be time for that later.   
  
Fjord grins and trudges back downstairs. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback, as always, is welcome, appreciated, and encouraged.


End file.
